"Why would I be? What's the point of moving out here if I wanted to be found?" He'd have just gone back to Wakanda if that's what he really wanted. And, yeah, sure. Some days that's all he wants. He just wants to be alone in his hut by the river, get gently headbutted by his goats, play with the kids and listen to stories told by the elders. But he can't just stay there forever. He's doing just fine here, with his own little ragtag crew of strays.

The best peace offering he could be given is for Zemo to get back in his car or helicopter or however the hell he got here, go back the way he came, and never come out this way again. He doesn't actually want help, stubborn and wanting to go at it alone the way he does.

And he could say as much. That he maybe could put up with helping Zemo, but he doesn't actually want the help. That much is already obvious though, so instead of brushing Zemo off, he just looks at the wall for a while and then lowers his gaze, resting his hands in his lap.

"I already have to deal with you. I don't want other people in my house. Touching my walls. Asking me why I live like this." A therapist might call this progress. It's not some witty, sarcastic, deliberately hurtful thing he said to protect himself with, to deflect from the real issue. He's not seeing a therapist though, clearly. And he hates giving Zemo an inch because he'll want to take a hundred miles.